Remember to Breathe
by littlemissfalloutboy
Summary: FORMERLY "THROUGH HER EYES" She lived her life the way she wanted. Did what she wanted, said what she wanted. So why was one boy, a stranger, suddenly changing that?
1. Before

**Ok, new story. I know there's the other one, **_**Yesterday's Tomorrow,**_** that I haven't finished. But I don't think Will. Atleast not for now because way too much has happened since I started writing that and I really don't know where I want it to go.**

**This story is very different. I don't want to give anything away because this is one of those stories which I just want to build itself and for you guys (the awesome readers!) to unravel slowly. The story focuses on Nathan and Haley but Peyton, Brooke and Lucas will be involved whenever I feel necessary. This story is ****very**** AU, so characters will also be different, however I will keep certain basic characteristics the same.**

**So, here is the prologue. The next chapter won't come for a while (about 3 weeks) because I've got exams but I promise you, it ****will ****come. I was just so excited to get this chapter out!**

**Therefore, without further ado…**

Before.

She's never been much of a talker. She doesn't make small talk, doesn't tell people in detail about all her courses at school or what she likes to do in her free time. But that day, she couldn't stop. She talked to every aunt, every uncle, every distant cousin in the room. What she talked about, she had no idea. All she knew is, it wouldn't end.

She thinks the word vomit must have started when they carried the black coffin out of the room. And took her mother in it. She heard whispered conversations about the body, but she for one could not understand how anybody could call it a body just seven hours after the body had been a person. She watched them carry the coffin out of the house, the priest – her father's best friend – at the front. Her eyes turned to her father, whose own eyes bore no expression as usual. Even at that moment, she almost laughed and rolled her eyes at this, her fourteen year old self wondering what it would take for this man to be a little more human. Tugging slightly on the awfully girly black discount dress that she and Peyton had bought as a joke only a couple of days ago, she thought about how ironic it was that she should wear this dress today, when things were, to put it bluntly – so fucking far from a joke.

Following the procession out of the room, she looked to her left. Her five year old cousin Melissa looked back at her, green eyes wide and cheeks rosy from the cold. Melissa's little hand stretched out, clasping her own and the little girl's mouth turned upwards into a smile. Haley didn't offer a smile back. She began to talk.

She must have spoken complete nonsense to Melissa but the five year old didn't seem to mind. The rest of the procession did, however. Great aunts and uncles turned to look at her, giving her stern looks but not saying anything because she was, after all, the daughter of a woman who _had _just died. Her chatter to Melissa stopped for a few minutes when they reached the church. As the church doors opened, she took in a breath, then shook herself out slightly. Letting go of Melissa's now slightly sweaty hand, she prepared herself.

The rest of it is a blur. She remembers only snippets of the funeral service – a collage of pictures made by her mother's sister Karen, whom she hasn't seen in about 9 years because her mother stopped talking to her. A sonata written by her 12 year old musical genius of a cousin, Emily. And then there was her father's speech. She definitely doesn't remember any of that, instead remembering his one expression and monotonous tone. The actual burial is even more of a blur. All she remembers is that she didn't know why the hell she couldn't cry and why the hell she couldn't stop talking (mostly to herself).

She remembers the part afterwards, though. It's like those cheesy carvings on trees. Etched into her brain for all of eternity. It isn't the loud, stupid rambling to cousins who didn't understand why she wasn't standing in a corner crying, that she remembers so well. No, it's after that, when she grabbed her coat – realising she was done with all the funeral party crap – and left the house, running in the cold towards the park. She remembers sitting down on the swing that had seemed like it was going to break for the last six ears but still held up. She remembers the wind whipping her face. And then she remembers the boy who came and sat next to her.

He came quietly, sitting on the swing beside her. He didn't look at her and offered no greeting to her. She accepted that, realising they were complete strangers and therefore, he had no obligation towards. And looking back, she thinks that may be the reason she said what she said next.

"My mother killed herself this morning. And I'm not sad."

She looked at him then and he looked back. His features were prominent, his jaw line strong and his lips a soft pink. His eyes draws him to her most. They're a mixture of blue and green and the colour seems to move inside them, swirling slightly, like a whirlpool.

When he gave no answer, she stood up abruptly. And ran. And as she ran, Haley realised, it was the most truthful thing she had ever said.


	2. One

**Thank you guys, for the ever-wonderful replies! Big squish to all of you! Enjoy this next one, but don't kill me for ending it the way I did!  
Rating is still about T, for profanity.**

One.

Different time, same shit hole of a town

_Karma's a bitch - Unknown_

She likes the way the water, scalding, trickles down her skin. She moves the shower head across her shoulder blades, the water flowing downwards like a stream. It washes over her breasts, stomach and legs before finally swirling down the drain. Thank god she had money for the water bill this month.

She steps out, wrapping a towel around her skin which has already formed goose bumps because of the sudden change in temperature. She ties a knot at the front of the towel before clearing the fog from the mirror and staring into it. Her face stares back at her. For a fleeting moment she thinks maybe she should go to school today. To see if she's still on the tutor list, if her 4.0 GPA has dropped and whether people are still the same.

So, she dries off, puts on seemingly clean clothes and vows to grab breakfast on the way before slamming the apartment door shut and heading to work at the café.

That makes it 24 days. And 24 missed calls from Peyton.

The café door jingles and she looks up from behind the counter to see a boy (well _man,_ but only according to him) walking towards her. Noticing who it is, she grimaces. "Ryan, what the hell are you doing here?"

He smirks. "Well, you get a little worried when your best customer stops buying your shit."

She knows what he's really here for. The fact that he's talking to her breasts makes that more than obvious. Lowering her voice she says, "I get that the school jock selling comic books has to remain somewhat discreet and therefore, you don't have people lining up to buy them, but I'm pretty sure I'm not your best customer considering that I've only ever bought two issues of the _Punisher_." The next part, she has no idea why she says because, as aforementioned, she knows just what the answer is. "You want to tell me why you're really here, you know since Whitey said that skipping anymore school is going to get you dickheads off the team?"

He grins when she calls him a dickhead and leans against the counter, bringing his face a whole lot closer to hers. "I'm not skipping. I'm just late," he pulls a self-written tardy note out of his back pocket, flashing her a smile that says, 'damn, I'm smooth' before continuing. "Besides you know how I just like to pay you a visit once in a while."

She can't help but laugh slightly at that. "Yeah, Ryan. I do know. I wasn't all that drunk at every one of those parties."

He smirks now and she fights the urge to slap it off his face. "I always knew I was worth remembering."

She doesn't roll her eyes or disagree. It's not worth it. "Don't smirk too wide Adler, or you'll get stuck that way."

"Oh I think we both know that would be a definite plus."

"It's only a plus when you have an IQ of lower than 70, if at all. But I guess judging by your usual choice in screw buddies, 70's high."

"Funny how we keep ending up together then, huh?"

He leaves then, eyes glinting and taking a bite out of one of the chocolate brownies she made this morning. Good thing too. Cause she sure as fuck doesn't have an answer to that one.

Her fingers are numb from doing freezer inventory. She laughs half heartedly, first at the number of tubs of chocolate ice cream – 69 – left and then at her juvenile perversity. And finally at the fact the her life has come to the point when things this lame make her crack up.

Once she's done, she heads out of the icebox (literally), hanging up the inventory jacket. Glancing at the four million year old lopsided clock, she decides to lock up as there are only 15 minutes to closing time and Karen isn't here to make sure she closes up at 11 pm and not a minute before. She heads around the café, switching off lights. She's about to grab a lone coffee mug off the table of a darkened booth, when it moves.

"Son of a bitch!"

Ok, so the mug hasn't moved itself. There's a hand (and arm and body) that's holding onto the mug, though Haley can barely make out that anyone's there. The person – a male judging from the low, slightly hoarse tone of voice – speaks up then.

"Sorry." He sounds most unapologetic, however.

"Sorry? What the fuck do you mean? You just scared the living shit out of me! What the hell are you even doing here?"

"There's no rule against drinking coffee."

"Yeah but there's got to be some kind of rule against scaring the living daylights out of someone."

"No, you know I don't think that there is." Haley may not be able to see his face but she knows that he's smiling at that.

She's is no mood to be teased by a stranger right now, no matter how good natured it might seem. "Whatever. Just drink your coffee and get out. I'm locking up in five minutes and unless you want to spend the night in a very cold café you better hurry up."

He doesn't answer and all she can hear is the slow sipping of coffee. She goes behind the counter now, her back to him and washes the last few plates. His footsteps are loud and heavy in the silent café as he stands up, dropping both the coffee mug and a five dollar bill on the counter, before leaving. She can hear the ever familiar tune of the café bell as he opens the door to leave. Just as she thinks he's gone and she's escaped another day, he says something. It's hard to understand what with the noise of the tap and the fact that he doesn't say it loudly.

But she hears it.

"So you never told me, three years ago, why you weren't sad."

And she finally believes in karma, and your goddamn past catching up to you.


End file.
